


Save a Horse

by Octinary



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, Dom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Enthusiastic Consent, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kink Enabler Eskel, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Multi, Pony Play, Porn with Feelings, Sub Lambert (The Witcher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27008542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octinary/pseuds/Octinary
Summary: It was Eskel’s idea. It had to be really. The number of people who could seriously suggest to the two of them that Lambert pretend to be Geralt’s mount in a sexually submissive way, and then actually have that suggestion acted on, was exactly one. Lambert would have decked anyone else out of hand before even considering it, but Eskel? Eskel, who knew them both so well, who shared his own kinks with them playfully when they all fell into bed together, who seemed to want nothing more than for them all to enjoy each other? He at least owed it to Eskel to listen.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 35
Kudos: 119





	Save a Horse

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to Cylin ([Twitter](https://twitter.com/cylinankamo)/[Tumblr](https://cylin-aka-ankamo.tumblr.com)/[AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylin)) for being the best beta anyone could ask for! Also, seriously go check out her art; it is brilliant.

It was Eskel’s idea. It had to be really. The number of people who could seriously suggest to the two of them that Lambert pretend to be Geralt’s mount in a sexually submissive way, and then actually have that suggestion acted on, was exactly one. Lambert would have decked anyone else out of hand before even considering it, but Eskel? Eskel, who knew them both so well, who shared his own kinks with them playfully when they all fell into bed together, who seemed to want nothing more than for them all to enjoy each other? He at least owed it to Eskel to listen. Although, even Eskel had known to wait for the right opportunity, when they would both be properly receptive, to make his suggestion. He sprung it on them near the beginning of winter, when they were all drunk off their asses one evening and teasing each other about the kinkiest things they had gotten up to in the past year: just a very casual mention that he had met an eager young thing in Kovir who had wanted to pretend to be Eskel’s horse and that it hadn’t actually been as weird as he had thought it might be. It had actually been quite enjoyable in some aspects, even if it wasn’t something he was necessarily going to seek out in future dalliances. Then he added that he was surprised, given Geralt’s natural inclinations, that he’d never tried pony play.

Geralt snorted derisively and made some crude joke about what Eskel got up to with Scorpion when the brothels were few and far between, but, being Eskel, instead of getting offended and swinging back, he just laughed at himself and pointed out that Geralt liked taking care of things. And then with a very poignant look at Lambert, added that Geralt also knew people who needed taking care of.

Lambert instinctively wanted to bristle at that, despite being grudgingly aware that Geralt and Eskel both thoroughly had his number and would see his false bravado for the lie it was. He did frequently play submissive to their more dominant personalities in the bedroom, but it wasn’t something they had ever explicitly talked about or planned for in the past. He just sort of naturally fell into their rhythms.

Wanted to fall into their rhythms.

Loved falling into their rhythms.

Before Lambert could decide on a reaction though (he’d narrowed it down to two: either being offended or cracking a joke about how he wasn’t submissive, just lazy), Geralt asked Eskel what he would be doing during this scene and the other witcher made a joke about getting his bed to himself for one damn night without someone stealing his covers and the conversation moved harmlessly on.

But a month and a half later, while Geralt and Lambert were playing cards, he presented Geralt with an intricately modified bridle he’d clearly made himself and the quip, “In case it comes in handy.”

From the way Lambert’s throat went dry and stomach dropped when Geralt’s dilated pupils met his, he knew that from that moment on getting there had always been an eventuality, not a possibility.

It took Geralt two years to work up the courage to ask Lambert to wear it.

It took Lambert two seconds to agree. Then he promptly ran away and cornered Eskel where he was working in the barn to ask him how the fuck they were actually supposed to do this.

Gently (always gently, how the hell was such a big scarred man with all the trauma to match those scars so gentle?), Eskel kissed his forehead and said that they could do whatever they felt comfortable with and he was sorry, but if they both really wanted this to be good they were actually going to have to have a conversation about it like grown-ups.

They did not have a conversation about it like grown-ups. At least not that winter. They instead spent almost three weeks studiously avoiding each other until Eskel got frustrated and reminded them that they didn’t have to do anything with the bridle if it made them uncomfortable, it had just been a suggestion for fuck’s sake and for the love of all the gods would they both please just come back to bed. He had enough trouble getting laid on the Path; he was not going to let their stupid egos interfere with him getting laid at home.

Hours later, after Eskel had been suitably rewarded for his infinite reserves of patience in dealing with their bullshit and they were all cuddling in the warm afterglow, he added, “If what you’re stuck on is looking for a place to start, you can just tell each other the reason, you know.”

“What?” Being a bit of non sequitur, Geralt’s fuzzy confusion was understandable. Lambert followed Eskel’s logic easily though. It had been on the forefront of his mind for the last forty minutes, ever since Geralt had matted a hand into his hair and forced him to stay put as he pushed in. Clearly Geralt had been too distracted to notice, eyes squished closed and alternating between biting his lips and mouthing against Lambert’s shoulder to keep himself from babbling like an idiot, but Lambert had felt Eskel’s eyes on them like a brand.

“The bridle...” Eskel felt Lambert tense and immediately tightened his hold on him in response. “I only made it because you both looked into it. If you’re not, whatever. Fine. But if you are and just don’t know exactly what you want to do with it maybe just start with telling each other the reason you were into it in the first place and go from there. Or, I dunno, you can each make a list of things you think might be hot and compare the two.”

The first response that came to Lambert’s mind was that he wanted Geralt to look at every inch of him. To have him run his hands gently and tenderly, but firmly and attentively over tired muscles, like he did for Roach after every ride. Surely he could say that out loud. That didn’t sound too kinky or weak; it was basically like asking for a massage. Lots of people like massages. Hell, they’ve even massaged each other before, working out the tension of months of travel, sleeping on the hard ground, and improperly and hastily healed wounds. This was something it was totally reasonable to ask for.

He buried his burning face in Eskel’s chest instead.

“Hm.” Geralt appeared to be equally as brave and, unsurprised, Eskel just sighed.

It was not mentioned again that winter, but Lambert spent all summer slowly adding to his list. He kept the paper folded up and tucked in his boot, where it sat like a stone all season. It wasn’t actually irritating his skin or anything, it was a single piece of paper for fuck’s sake, but his hyperawareness of it gave it a menacing presence beyond its physical properties. Terrified that he would be incapacitated and have it stolen, he kept his ideas purposefully as vague as possible for plausible deniability purposes. When he got back to Kaer Morhen (last this year due to the delay caused by a late contract for a fucking wight that he knew was stalking the old battle site near Tridam, but wouldn’t fucking be baited out), he wrote the list out properly and presented it. To Eskel. Who, after glancing at it and realizing what it was, swore at a volume and with a fluency that frankly impressed the younger witcher, dragged Lambert to Geralt and then dragged the both of them to Lambert’s room and threw them, and Lambert’s note, in.

As the door slammed shut and Eskel informed them in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t letting either of them out until dinner, Lambert quickly fumbled for his fluttering note. Geralt moved to do the same and Lambert had to repress the urge to fucking bite him for the gall, before he realized there were actually two pieces of paper wafting to the ground between them, and one was in Geralt’s much more practiced hand. Apparently they’d had the same misguided idea over who the recipient of their lists should be. No wonder Eskel was losing it.

Being witchers, they did each catch their own paper. Being unreasonably shy, they didn’t speak. Being so fucking horny for this and finally seeing a way to move it forward without either of them having to visibly give ground to the other, they did, albeit still wordlessly, exchange lists. There was actually a surprising (or perhaps unsurprising) amount of overlap. And of the things on Geralt’s list that weren’t on Lambert’s, most sounded intriguing and the others sounded at least… well… doable. After a solid half hour of silence, more than long enough for them each to have perused the other’s list multiple times, they finally had a conversation. And set a date.

Which is how Lambert ended up here: naked, sitting on his bed, waiting for Geralt to fetch him for a ride. He didn’t know exactly when Geralt was coming for him, which they had agreed on as part of the setup to the play, but even knowing that he quickly grew frustrated and anxious. Within fifteen minutes he was up and pacing, hands twitching at his sides with nervous energy. As tightly wound as he was, when he finally heard the sound of someone opening his door, he whirled, ready to snap at Geralt for taking his fucking time, but the sight of him standing in the doorway, fully dressed with a goddamn lead line over his shoulder and one eyebrow cocked as he waited to see how Lambert would react, quickly reminded him of one of Geralt’s rules that he had consented to: horses don’t talk. Snapping his mouth shut he huffed out a loud snort, unintentionally sounding far more equine than he intended. Geralt smirked and Lambert could feel himself going red.

Instead of teasing though, the other witcher just met Lambert’s eyes and held up the lengths of bandages he had also brought. Lambert held out his hands in loose fists, thumbs tucked beside his fingers instead of across, and let Geralt wind the fabric around them, ensuring that he no longer had use of his fingers. When he finished, Geralt held Lambert’s wrists and asked quietly, “What are your safewords?”

“Stop to stop. Slow to check in.” They’d agreed on them previously. Given that Lambert wasn’t supposed to be talking at all, they hadn’t felt the need to get fancy.

“And you want to do this?”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes.”

Geralt returned to the door, took the lead off his shoulders and gave a low whistle. “C’mon then.”

Lambert did not come on. That had been one of the things on his list: he wanted permission to misbehave a bit without the game ending. Geralt had frowned a little when they were discussing that point and, obviously a little nervous, had asked, “You want me to punish you?”

“No.” Lambert had insisted, but then immediately walked it back. “Well, not much. Not harshly. Fuck. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I just don’t want to- I don’t want to feel like I have to be fucking perfect, you know? For it all to be about, shit, I dunno, following everything you say to a T. If I wanted that I wouldn’t need-” Not being able to find the word he wanted, he had just made an exasperated gesture at the two pieces of papers sat on the bed between them. “I’d just get on my knees and call you ‘master’ and that’d be the end of it. But horses aren’t like- aren’t like slaves. They aren’t like that, they- They don’t know, so they- I’ve seen you with Roach, fuck, all the Roaches, training them and- I just want you to be-”

“Patient.” Geralt had filled in the missing word and Lambert had said, “Yes,” very, very quietly. Luckily for him witchers had good ears.

Now, faced with this first minor insubordination, Geralt just hummed softly and approached him slowly with his hands outstretched, like you would a skittish horse.

Lambert contemplated biting him, just to be ornery, but he didn’t honestly feel like it. Instead he just backed away as Geralt approached. His room wasn’t that large so he knew he could only take a few steps before he was up against the wall. In the moment he turned his head slightly to gauge his distance to the hard rock, not wanting to prematurely end this game by cracking his head open like an idiot, Geralt swooped in on his left and tossed the lead line around his neck. He actually, due to the decades of muscle memory, twitched the slack in his hand into another smaller loop, ready to slide it over Lambert’s muzzle and complete the makeshift halter, but fumbled with the reality that Lambert did not, in fact, possess a muzzle. In the awkwardness of the moment, Lambert couldn’t help but snicker and then freeze, worried he might have just thrown off the whole mood.

Undeterred however, Geralt simply widened the second loop and slipped it around beneath Lambert’s jaw and over the top of his head, before pulling the tail from that through the original loop at his neck and completing the lead. “Think this is funny, do you?” He muttered, seemingly mostly to himself, as he checked and adjusted the rope to make sure the lead wouldn’t choke. “You rather I just leave you in the pasture with your halter on all the time? Hmm?” His hands were warm where he was running them between the line and Lambert’s skin. “No. Wouldn’t do that to you, would I? Pretty thing.”

The instinct to bite back that he wasn’t pretty, that Geralt was the pretty one, what with all the people stumbling over themselves to bed him, was strong, but he couldn’t move his jaw without feeling the rope and remembering that horses don’t talk. So he just had to listen while Geralt continued to murmur sweetly, a mixture of praise and possession: something that was on both of their lists. It was a little overwhelming in the moment though, and Lambert felt the urge to dart away from Geralt’s hands, but even if he wasn’t trapped between the solid bulk of the witcher and the wall, he was on a goddamn lead - he couldn’t go anywhere. All he could do was shift and twitch before eventually settling under the soothing voice as Geralt fussed about him. Eyes closed and breathing calmly while Geralt stroked his side, Lambert could feel the first stirrings of interest in these proceedings from his cock. The feeling of just standing there under Geralt’s control while he slowly started to fill out was powerful. Dipping his head slightly, he tried to get a look at Geralt to gauge if it was affecting him at all, but he was sharply tugged back into place by the halter.

“Alright. That’s a good boy.” Satisfied, Geralt rubbed the back of Lambert’s neck before clicking his tongue and starting forward. “Walk on.”

Lambert followed Geralt fairly obediently, about a foot away and slightly back like he should. The one time he accidentally took a step too far and crowded Geralt, he was nudged back with a solid shoulder. It was a short walk, just down the hall from his room to Geralt’s, and despite the fact he knew they were not going to run into anyone (they had sure as fuck cleared that up before starting), it was still a bit exhilarating to be out in public, as it were, on Geralt’s lead. By the time they arrived Lambert would have been fully erect if it hadn’t been fucking freezing in the hallway. Instead what little life his prick had shown so far was shivered away.

When they entered, Geralt turned him wide, as if he were a horse, and led him to a newly installed ring in the post of his headboard. He loosely tied the lead to that before going to close the door behind them. Left to himself for a moment, Lambert couldn’t help but notice that this room, especially in comparison to his and the hallway, was wonderfully warm. Geralt had clearly prepared for people to be naked in here and Lambert appreciated it. Despite his state of undress, Lambert hadn’t built up the fire in his own room since he hadn’t expected to be there that long. Now he was realizing exactly how cold his fingers and toes were. Given how his hands were bound, he couldn’t rub them together, but he could shift from foot to foot, rubbing each foot on the opposing leg.

Seeing what he was doing, Geralt clicked his tongue in displeasure. “Can’t stand still, even for a minute? Knew you were likely partially unbroken, but thought you would have at least been taught to stand at a tie.” He held the modified bridle Eskel had made in his hands.

Lambert huffed in annoyance. He could stand still when needed. His feet were just fucking cold. He couldn’t convey that with words though so instead he just glared and rolled his shoulders. He had an idea though. Horses couldn’t talk, but they did usually try to tell you what was wrong, if you were paying attention. As Geralt approached, on his left again like the consummate professional he was, Lambert lifted his leg, slowly so as to not give the impression that he was about to kick, and nodded his head, with the little slack he had, towards it.

With a small frown, Geralt bent over to take his foot in his hands for an examination, (did he think Lambert was playing at having picked up a stone bruise or something? What the fuck was sexy about that?), but the moment his hands touched Lambert’s skin, the other witcher flinched back. “Shit. Your feet are freezing.”

Lambert just rolled his eyes and secretly enjoyed the little warm feeling that came from knowing that Geralt’s attention was focussed on him. That despite the fact he wasn’t speaking, Geralt was listening to his body language and striving to hear him.

“Hm.” Geralt shook his head, straightened up and then ran the back of his nails on his free hand up and down the side of Lambert’s face in apology. “Sorry. We’ll get you bridled then do something about that okay? And once we’re working you’ll be plenty warm, boy, trust me. Gonna ride you ‘til you’re good and hot.”

Believing and desperately looking forward to the fulfillment of that promise, Lambert stopped fidgeting. That had also been something on both of their lists. They both wanted Lambert to work hard for his reward.

After a few more consolatory scratches, Geralt tossed the reins of the bridle over Lambert’s head to lay teasingly down his back and pulled off the ‘muzzle’ loop of the lead line, leaving only the loose loop around his neck. He brought the bit to Lambert’s mouth.

With one last gulp, Lambert opened his mouth and took it. The bridle Eskel had made for them very closely resembled a real one in both appearance and materials, which is to say it was mostly smooth, soft, black leather and had a lot of buckles to adjust the fit. Both of them had decided that the last thing they actually wanted to do when they were waiting to get off was fiddle with a lot of buckles, and so they had had a fitting the day before. The feeling of it was much headier now, in the scene, than it had been then. Even when the two of them were sitting in Lambert’s room, fully clothed and talking shit at each other, the bridle had been an object of mild arousal. Now, in Geralt’s room, naked and silent, it was a goddamn aphrodisiac. Lambert closed his eyes and felt his cock stiffening as Geralt slipped the headpiece on and started to latch the browband.

He still wasn’t sure if Eskel had made the whole thing from scratch or started from an actual horse’s bridle. There had been a flicker of worry yesterday while trying it on that it would either smell or taste like real horse, which would have turned Lambert right off. Instead, the thing just smelled like leather and Geralt, probably from the years it had spent packed in his trunk waiting for them to be ready for it. The bit was leather wrapped around a solid core, not metal, and it didn’t have a noseband since, again, Lambert didn’t actually have a muzzle. The browband was also modified to wrap all the way around his head instead of just ending at the rosette, where the headpiece, cheek pieces and throat latch met, and as Geralt fastened it behind his head, it pulled the piece snuggly to his face.

Geralt double-checked the buckles on the throat latch and cheek pieces to make sure they still had the appropriate slack before flicking the reins back in front of Lambert and gathering them in his left hand. Satisfied that the bridle was secure, he pulled the lead rope off completely, leaving it to dangle forgotten from the ring it was still tied to, and led Lambert to the bed. He helped position him on his hands and knees and then, reins still in hand, took a step back to admire the view. Lambert preened a little, enjoying the attention, but it turned into a soft whine when, apparently satisfied with what he saw, Geralt joined him on the bed with a, “Now, let’s see about those feet.”

He was hard as a fucking rock, bridled up and basically presenting here! Who the fuck cared about his cold toes anymore? Apparently Geralt of fucking Rivia who was nothing if not meticulous with his mounts. Lambert struggled to think of the horse equivalent for, “Forget about my damn feet and just touch my bloody cock, asshole.”

Ignoring his frustration entirely (or, more likely, relishing it), Geralt looped the reins though the ring in the headboard that still held the now abandoned lead line and, keeping one hand on Lambert’s flank, shifted to the foot of the bed.

With the bridle tied off, Lambert couldn’t turn to see what he was doing, but he felt warm, calloused hands running down his left leg and then the toes on his left foot were enveloped in glorious heat. Which, fine, was very nice. He still would have rather got on with the sex part.

After cradling his toes for a minute, Geralt started rubbing vigorously up his leg. He went right up Lambert’s thigh, tantalizingly close to his groin, before, keeping a hand on Lambert’s backside, he moved to the other side of the bed and repeated the treatment on his right leg. This time, when Geralt got to his upper thigh, Lambert tried inching his knees forward and apart to change the angle and shift his hips down, forcing Geralt’s hands to make contact with his desperate dick. Either through foresight or damn luck, Geralt moved one hand to Lambert’s hip and the other to the small of his back just in time to deny him the touch he’d tried for. Kissing the wriggling tailbone in front of him, Geralt murmured, “Ready for a run?”

Fuck yes was Lambert ready! He rolled his shoulders and arched his back in what he hoped was an encouraging manner.

Geralt moved back into Lambert’s peripheral vision before breaking physical contact with him and starting to quickly strip. He looked at least as worked up as Lambert felt, which was a bit of a relief to be honest, his ample erection evident as soon as his trousers were off. Of course Geralt of all people would get hard just taking care of someone else. Lambert supposed he shouldn’t bitch about it too much though. It was one of the draws of this kind of play after all - and he was definitely reaping the benefits of that predilection.

Gloriously naked, Geralt grabbed the two oblong pillows packed tight with sawdust that they had made for this part of the scene and the massage oil as he returned to the bed. He poured a generous amount of the oil into his hands and then liberally coated Lambert’s back and his own cock. Positioning one pillow on either side of Lambert, reaching under him in his eagerness to do so, (which Lambert really should have kicked him for - you don’t move under a horse), he reclaimed the reins and then swung a leg over so he straddled Lambert’s back. He shifted slightly to position himself properly and then kneeled on the pillows. The end result was that it looked (and felt quite a bit) like Geralt was on Lambert’s back, balls heavy and thick cock hard against the firm, oiled muscles there, but actually he was supporting the majority of his own weight on his knees on the pillows. Pulling the reins tight he clicked his tongue again. “Alright, boy. Walk on.”

There was no telling how ridiculous their plan would actually feel in action, but Lambert really had no reason at this point in the game not to try. He began to rock forwards and backwards on his hands and knees slowly, at the requested walking gait, rubbing his back along the hot length of Geralt sitting on him. Since they had both agreed that Lambert should be doing the bulk of the moving, but there was no way he could actually carry Geralt around on his back for an extended period of time in any reasonable way, let alone any sexy way, this had been their solution.

It took Lambert about eight ‘steps’ to determine that this was the worst idea they had ever had and he just felt ridiculous. He was about to say, “Slow,” so they could attempt to fix this mess when he heard Geralt’s breath catch and felt him shift, angling himself slightly forward to press his dick harder against his mount. Lambert bit down hard on the bit. Okay, maybe this could work. He could get Geralt off and then Geralt would take care of him like planned. Trying to hurry this procedure along to the part where he was getting his, Lambert started to increase his pace.

“Easy.” Geralt pulled sharply on the reins. His breath was definitely coming faster now, but his voice was still firm. “I said walk. You trot when I tell you.”

Lambert tossed his head as much as he could under the tight rein, but complied.

“That’s a good boy. Just like that.”

There was no way Geralt didn’t actually want it faster, so the long minutes he kept Lambert at a walk was undoubtedly just to prove a point about who was in control here. Lambert’s cock happily received the message and obligingly started to leak. By the time he got the “Trot on” command from Geralt and was allowed to speed up, Lambert was already planning his rebellion. If he pulled his knees up more and shifted his weight back, like he had when Geralt had been rubbing his thighs, and spread his legs a bit, he might just be able to get his dick some blessed friction against the bedspread.

The first time he made a move for it, Geralt caught on quickly. He swatted Lambert’s flank sharply. “Ah! None of that! Keep your form. Trot on.”

Lambert huffed but complied. He was working up a nice sweat and Geralt was outright panting. He knew the further gone his rider got, the more likely he was to get away with something. He was impatient though, and, if he was being honest, starting to get a bit into the floaty headspace Eskel and Geralt could sometimes induce in him, so he tried it again only a minute later.

He got another firm swat for his effort. “No!” Geralt sounded a little more frustrated this time and Lambert wondered briefly if he wasn’t regretting vetoing Lambert’s suggestion that he use a crop. “Last warning. Behave or I’ll make you behave.”

Well that was a bluff worth calling if he’d ever heard one. He couldn’t help grinning and pulling against the reins to test his rider’s will. You just don’t say shit like that if you can’t follow through on it. This was fun and he was going to get off and there was nothing Geralt could do to stop him. As soon as Geralt’s breathy panting had turned to soft moans and he’d clicked his tongue at Lambert to command him to canter, Lambert tried again, almost giddy with the thrill of it.

Geralt’s reaction was immediate. “Whoa!” His voice was firm and angry and he pulled back on the reins hard.

Lambert froze, partially at the command, partially because he needed to in order to alleviate the uncomfortable pressure on his mouth, but mostly in terror. Despite everything Geralt had said about being patient, Lambert had pushed it too far after all. He felt his stomach dropping in an unpleasant way as Geralt dismounted.

“Sry.” The word was garbled by the bit and the emotional whiplash of crashing from the high he’d been chasing. Lambert tried to sit up and face Geralt so he could explain. Promise to do better next time. Beg him to not throw him out. Fuck it, he was too far down to have any pride left.

Geralt kept his grip on the reins still firm, but let Lambert sit up to face him.

Looking at him, Lambert could see that his eyes didn’t look as angry as his voice had sounded. They looked more concerned than anything really. Before Lambert could start blubbering, Geralt asked quickly, “Was that ‘slow?’”

It took Lambert a baffled second to realize that Geralt was asking if he had used one of his words. “No.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t ‘stop.’”

Lambert shook his head in agreement. He wasn’t the one who wanted to stop, Geralt was. He squeezed his eyes closed against the tears he would die before releasing. Fuck. This is why you never tried for anything you wanted. It all just turned to shit. This is why-

His internal monologue was silenced by the soft touch of Geralt running his fingers along Lambert’s face under the cheek piece of the bridle. Lambert couldn’t help but lean into it. “Hm. You sure you didn’t say, ‘slow?’”

“Huck yeth.”

Geralt snorted at that. “In retrospect, given we knew you would have a bit in, maybe having verbal safewords wasn’t the best idea.”

Lambert didn’t respond, just let himself be petted.

After another long moment, Geralt moved one hand to the bit and the other to the buckle of the browband so he could loosen it just enough to pull the bit out of Lambert’s mouth. “What did you say?”

He stalled by working his jaw for a moment. “Sorry.”

Geralt raised a brow at that. “You are not. You were having the time of your life.”

Which was, well, true. He tried to turn his head away, but Geralt still had a firm grip on the bridle. “I pushed you too much.”

Since he couldn’t look anywhere else, Lambert saw the understanding bloom across Geralt’s face. “Oh! You thought-" He shook his head in an emphatic negative. "No. That’s not what I was doing. I just needed you to hold off so I could go get something.” Seeing the confusion now on Lambert’s face, Geralt leaned in until their foreheads touched and they were breathing the same air. “Something to make good on my promise to make you behave.”

“Really?” The spark of arousal that had fled at his panic was not apparently completely out and could still be stoked to life.

“Really. You think I won’t take care of you? Silly boy.” Geralt was slipping back into the tone he used when talking to his horse. Lambert wasn’t even sure if he was doing it intentionally or not, or if the words just came easier for him when he was in the headspace of talking to something that wouldn’t talk back. Something he was proud of. Something that was his. “Clever, spirited and quick, that’s my mount. Clever horses don’t need the whip; they need a cleverer rider to keep them in check. I’m up to that challenge.”

Lambert’s breath hitched. “Can we keep going?”

Geralt pulled back so he could make eye contact again. “You sure?”

He couldn’t nod with Geralt holding the bridle. “Very.”

His rider smirked. “You gonna behave?”

“Yes.” Geralt did not respond to that, just stared smirking at Lambert until the last cold tendril of doubt melted away and Lambert felt himself smirking broadly back. “If you make me.”

Geralt kissed his forehead. “That’s my boy.”

Lambert took the bit back greedily when it was offered and let Geralt tighten the browband again. He resumed his position on the bed and didn’t fidget, standing properly and waiting for Geralt to fetch whatever he was going to fetch. He hoped Geralt didn’t have to go far though, he wanted to try to get back into it now as quickly as possible while he was still somewhat in the right mindset for it.

Luckily, the other witcher only went as far as the window. He unlatched the shutters, collected a blanket full of snow and returned to the bed, arranging the small drift underneath Lambert who couldn’t help but shudder. Fuck. Geralt was clever and determined. His bed would be soaked when the snow melted, but there was no way in hell Lambert was going to try to grind himself down onto that. Radiating smugness, he re-oiled Lambert’s back and remounted. “Alright, walk on.”

The looming threat of accidentally dunking his junk in the snow did wonders for Lambert’s focus. Seeming to intuit Lambert’s needs, Geralt also kept a firmer hand on the reins this time, forcing Lambert to tuck in his chin a bit and thus severely restricting his field of view. Without the temptation of the bedspread below and the ability to see any other possibilities cut off, the only way Lambert was going to be able to get off was if Geralt was satisfied and let him. With that as his new North Star Lambert found himself attentive and responsive to his rider’s commands and every moan, every gasp, every “Good boy,” just seemed to heighten his anticipation. And his eager responsiveness seemed to work Geralt up just as well. He could feel Geralt’s powerful legs on either side of him, quivering with the resolve to not move. To make Lambert move instead. And Lambert, trapped between his rider and the snow, held in check by a tight hand on his reins, was made to move. It was fucking intoxicating is what it was.

Time got fuzzy for a bit, so Lambert honestly couldn’t say how long it was between starting back up and Geralt groaning, “Oh, fuck! Just run!” with one hand on the reins and one palming his own cock against Lambert’s writhing frame.

When he felt Geralt’s release striping his back, his own balls tensed up in anticipation. He was making some soft plaintive whining noise, but dutifully kept moving until his rider gasped, “Okay, whoa. Whoa there.”

Lambert couldn’t completely still himself, he was far too wound up. He stopped rocking, but couldn’t keep from shifting his weight as Geralt dismounted. He was slick with sweat and panting around the bit, drooling a little in his desperation. He’d done it. He’d done his work. He’d done good. Now he needed-

“Shh. Shh, boy. I’ve got you.” One of Geralt’s hands was planted firmly on his back while the other reached underneath him to his much neglected cock. “I’ve got you. Good boy. I’ve got you. Come on. There you go.”

Lambert rutted into Geralt’s fist with wild abandon. He’d fucking earned it. All the while Geralt rumbled soothing nonsense about how well he’d done and how perfect he looked. His orgasm hit him like a fucking landslide. He had no idea what nonsense was coming out of his mouth, but it definitely wasn’t any human language so Geralt couldn’t get in a fit about him breaking rules and talking. Drained, he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his stomach, but Geralt was, annoyingly, preventing that. Lambert groaned in frustration and made a half-hearted attempt to escape the other witcher’s grasp.

Geralt sounded amused. “I’ll let you go if you really want me to, but you’re still over a partially melted pile of snow.”

Fuck Geralt and his stupid fucking snow based plans. Lambert growled. Which was definitely not a horse noise, but was at least a very Lambert noise.

“I know, I know. I’m the worst. You're so hard done by.” Geralt continued to murmur affectionately until Lambert seemed willing to hold his own weight up again, and then finally pulled the blanket of slush out from under him. “Stay up so I can wipe you down. There you go.” Getting a cloth from a washbasin he’d left near the fire, Geralt cleaned Lambert from neck to toe. Lambert closed his eyes and moaned blissfully, immensely enjoying the sensation. Always attentive, Geralt picked up on this and took a lot longer than was likely necessary to rub him down, firm hands massaging quivering muscles. Finally, he removed the bridle and gently wiped Lambert’s face. Tossing the cloth back at the bucket, he kept petting through Lambert’s hair fondly. “Let me know when you’re done.”

The words were still floating on a gentle buzz, and part of Lambert wanted to stay buzzy forever or at least as long as possible, but a more significant part of him wanted to actually lie the fuck down. “I’m done.”

Geralt kissed him on the forehead. “Wanna go back to your room?”

“No.” Moving seemed like way more effort than it was worth right now, but Geralt had soaked his bed to ensure Lambert’s compliance so they probably should relocate.

“Hm. Get up for a second.” Geralt grabbed the bearskin rug from in front of his fire and covered the damp mattress with it. Lambert immediately flopped back down onto it, absolutely luxuriating in the feel of the warm fur against his skin. Geralt returned with a spare blanket from his trunk and a glass of water. He unwrapped Lambert’s hands and made him drink the water before handing over the blanket and climbing into the bed himself. Snuggling up alongside Lambert, he whispered, “Thank you,” into his hair very, very quietly. Luckily for him witchers had good ears.

Radiant, Lambert hummed low in response and nudged Geralt back with his head. “How fast do you think Eskel could make those other pieces of tack for me you had on your list?”

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any feedback is greatly appreciated. :)
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](https://octinary.tumblr.com) if you want to talk to me over there.


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